


Ven Prueba De Mi Boca Para Ver Cómo Te Sabe Quiero, Quiero, Quiero Ver Cuánto Amor A Ti Te Cabe

by firetruckyeah



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dybain, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mild Daddy Kink, Porn with Feelings, it's all the commentators' fault for saying they love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetruckyeah/pseuds/firetruckyeah
Summary: To test, he pulls Gonzalo’s worn shirt out of his bag where he stuck it, hastily, after the game. Gonzalo looks up from where he’s lounged against the doorframe and raises his eyebrows.“How did I know you were going to steal that?” Gonzalo asks, grinning. Paulo smiles cheekily and throws it at him.“Can I put it on, please.”“What?” Gonzalo asks, still smiling. Paulo shrugs.“I want to put it on.”





	Ven Prueba De Mi Boca Para Ver Cómo Te Sabe Quiero, Quiero, Quiero Ver Cuánto Amor A Ti Te Cabe

**Author's Note:**

> Hey again! This is sky commentator's fault for literally saying that [Pipa and Dyba love each other](https://baentancur.tumblr.com/post/188071754338/fun-fact-during-the-pipa-dyba-change-one-of-skys), and yes the title is from Despacito but i know pretty much 2 latin songs. Please leave kudos and comments because they make my day, also pardon my English!
> 
> Also y'all come and say hi to me on [Tumblr](https://baentancur.tumblr.com) :)

They only make it to his room long after the Champions League match against Leverkusen is over, after God knows how many interviews, a long day made longer by the persistent reminder of their next serie a match. Gonzalo’s still smiling, content with having scored again, Paulo loves to see him happy.

To test, he pulls Gonzalo’s worn shirt out of his bag where he stuck it, hastily, after the game. Gonzalo looks up from where he’s lounged against the doorframe and raises his eyebrows.

“How did I know you were going to steal that?” Gonzalo asks, grinning. Paulo smiles cheekily and throws it at him.

“Can I put it on, please.”

“What?” Gonzalo asks, still smiling. Paulo shrugs.

“I want to put it on.”

Gonzalo cocks his head but nods, Paulo slips off his shirt and toss it carelessly onto the dresser. He’s wearing black jeans underneath it and it’s not his uniform but it’ll do, showing just as how bigger than him Gonzalo is while Paulo pulls the jersey’s hem down. Gonzalo watches carefully as Paulo makes a show of putting his hand above the team’s logo and then grins.

“You did so well,” Paulo says when Gonzalo crosses over to kneel in front of him. “I like watching you play.” Gonzalo rests his arms on either side of Paulo’s thighs, presses his forehead into Paulo’s collarbone. He feels lips, light, on the crown of his head.

“I like that you like to watch me play,” he says, eyes closed, forehead pressed to Paulo’s thudding heart. 

“Get up here,” Paulo says, and Gonzalo crawls up, over him, pushing him down until every inch of their bodies is touching, breath hot in the angle of Paulo’s shoulder. He can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss there, and another, and another, Paulo baring his neck to give him better access, sighing contentedly when Gonzalo noses the soft underside of his jaw. When his hand wanders under Gonzalo’s shirt, in the corner of his eye, he sees him smile.

“Off,” Paulo mumbles. Gonzalo snorts and wiggles ridiculously, letting Paulo push the fabric up under his armpits and shrugging it over his head.

Paulo sits up, heavy on Gonzalo’s thighs, lets his eyes wander, the red mark on his neck where Paulo’s teeth were only a moment ago, pale and jagged lines on his collarbone, he kisses the tattoo that sits underneath Paulo’s heart. Paulo reaches out and touches it, drags his finger down the barely-there trail of hair to linger at Gonzalo’s waistband. Gonzalo’s not young anymore, has practice enough to resist such a light caress, but Paulo can see the way his chest is heaving. He balls his fingers into a fist, and shit, Paulo barely touched him.

“God,” Gonzalo breathes, at the same time Paulo says, voice tight, “Paulo.”

This…thing, whatever it is, between them, goes marrow-deep, has been taking root since they met and fucked around the first time they were called to the national team, grew into something at once both familiar and terrifyingly, wonderfully new. Gonzalo can snatch the words out of Paulo’s mouth before he says them but when they give in and fall into each other in the dead of night, holding so tightly they could become one, is when he gets to taste the thrill of discovery again. The first time they kissed Gonzalo realized Paulo uses peppermint toothpaste and can’t hold himself back from giggling and likes to cup his face in both hands like he does on the field, but the first time they kissed with intent Gonzalo realized that the way he sagged against him meant he was waiting for Gonzalo to hold him up, for once forgetting all swagger and bravado, delighted just to kiss him stupid in empty hallways with no thought for consequences. Years later and Gonzalo might be used to the way Paulo’s hands are colder than the rest of him but God, the sight of the younger lying there with his jersey on is new and overwhelming and lights a fire that _love_ seems too insignificant to name. 

“What are you looking at?” Paulo asks cheekily, running his hands up Gonzalo’s thighs. Gonzalo comes back to himself and answers by tugging Paulo up by the arm, ignoring his laugh of surprise and cupping his face in both hands, Paulo’s arms winding around his waist, pulling him close.

“I love you,” Gonzalo says, bumping their foreheads together.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Paulo says, and breathes, once, twice against Gonzalo’s mouth before slotting their lips together.

Paulo is an enthusiastic kisser and Gonzalo would say the same for himself, but he takes extra care to bite Paulo’s bottom lip before opening his mouth all the way, knowing that when they break apart for air it will be red and slick and wet and Paulo will look up at him with hunger and adoration in that way he has before diving back in, high off of _them_ in a way Gonzalo’s never seen him elsewhere.

“Take your shirt off,” Paulo mumbles, presses a kiss to the corner of Gonzalo’s mouth. Gonzalo furrows his brow. He had the vague notion of making this some sort of worship, focused on Paulo and Paulo entirely, but chuckles and accepts the futility of that idea when Paulo pokes him sharply in the ribs and then bites the underside of his neck, saying sharper, “Off, Gonzalo.”

“Alright,” Gonzalo concedes, but pushes Paulo farther up the bed before doing so. Paulo crawls towards the headboard and sinks back onto the pillows, watching Gonzalo with interest as he strips off his shirt and then makes to move back on top of Paulo. Paulo stops him with a foot on his thigh.

“Pants, too,” he says.

“You first,” Gonzalo argues. Paulo’s lying there in jeans, which is criminal, because Gonzalo wants his hands everywhere.

Gonzalo grins wickedly, and well, Paulo would be lying if he didn’t expect it at some point but the words still go straight to his dick when Gonzalo says, “You’re supposed to listen to your _Daddy_.”

Oh. _Oh_, that’s not fair at all, and Paulo tells him so but not without stripping off his jeans obediently, flinging them unceremoniously to the side. Gonzalo gives him a shit-eating grin. Gonzalo crawls back over him, hands going to his belt buckle.

“Oh Daddy, may I be allowed the great honor of disrobing you now?” Paulo does his best to keep a straight face, but Gonzalo can’t manage it, giggling in a very undignified manner before going “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Paulo makes short work of the buckle and Gonzalo does his best to kick the jeans off despite the fact that he’s still over Paulo and their thighs rub together teasingly every time Gonzalo kicks his leg. When the offending clothes are safely piled on the floor at the end of the bed, Gonzalo finally lets himself fall forward, pressing a kiss to the V of Paulo’s hips where the jersey went up a bit before trailing a line up his stomach, biting and sucking when he gets closer to Paulo’s neck, fingers finding the fabric wrapped around Paulo’s bicep, holding him down. Paulo hums contentedly and strokes Gonzalo’s nape with his free hand, running down into the angle of his neck, over his shoulders and then back again. When Gonzalo bites the hinge of his jaw he swears softly, hand spread over Gonzalo’s shoulder blade, digs his nails in and pushes his entire body down into the mattress so he can crane his neck enough to kiss Gonzalo stupid, messy and wonderful, all tongue and teeth. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he gasps when Gonzalo grinds down into Paulo’s hips. “Gonzalo, I want-“

“Yes,” Gonzalo says, hysterical with the way Paulo tugs his banded arm out of Gonzalo’s grasp and laces their fingers together, pulls their joined hands even further up so that Gonzalo falls into him. Paulo arches up into him, other hand dropping to grope his ass, and Paulo moans quietly. “Anything,” he says, and Paulo falls back into the pillow to hear the words properly, “Anything, God, anything.”

“Anything,” Paulo echoes, kisses Gonzalo until he can’t breathe. Gonzalo feels Paulo’s erection pressed into his thigh and pushes into him, gasping when Paulo just spreads his legs wider.

“Fuck,” Gonzalo mumbles, and drops lower, bites Paulo’s shoulder and then pulls down Paulo’s underwear, hoping he doesn’t notice how his hands are shaking. Paulo never fails to overwhelm him, overload his senses until he’s on the brink of coming just from the sensation of dull nails scraping through his hair. He nuzzles Paulo’s inner thigh and then makes himself sit up, Paulo whining from the lack of contact.

“Lube,” he says, by way of explanation, and stumbles off the bed towards the bathroom, rifling through his things until he finds a bottle and a condom. Behind him, Paulo swears.

“Next time get that first,” Paulo says loudly. Gonzalo smiles despite himself, because last year they weren’t guaranteed a _next time_, their own uncertainty and stupidity threatening to deny them the one thing they realized is a given. He wonders vaguely what that makes them now. Bolder, yeah. Smarter.

“Gonzalo!” Paulo calls in frustration. Gonzalo peeks out from the bathroom, drinks in the sight of Paulo, stark naked, palming himself idly, the jersey moving on his arms whenever he moves his hand.

“That’s obscene,” Gonzalo says.

“Let me touch you before I go insane,” Paulo retorts. Gonzalo grins and kicks off his own boxers, sliding back into bed, and Paulo reaches immediately for his dick. Gonzalo swears loudly, dropping his head to Paulo’s shouder and watching his hand move between them. He catches sight of the jersey in the corner of his eye and twists, with great effort, to whisper in Paulo’s ear.

“This is probably,ah,this is probably not appropriate for you baby boy.”

“Fuck that,” Paulo says with a smile that only grows broader when he squeezes tighter and Gonzalo moans, falling forward as his arms, briefly, turn to jelly.

“Enough,” Paulo says then, letting go of Gonzalo with a sigh. “I want you inside me, come on.”

Gonzalo glares at him, so hard he’s having trouble focusing. “You can’t say those things and expect me to keep it together,” he says, fully aware of his cock leaking onto Paulo’s stomach.

“I don’t want you to keep it together,” Paulo says impatiently. “I just want you inside me. Please,” he says, and bucks up.

Gonzalo groans, snatching the bottle of lube from where he abandoned it and spreading it over his fingers messily. Paulo angles his hips up, waiting, and Gonzalo leans over him as far as he can before pushing a finger inside.

“Oh,” Paulo says breathlessly. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_.”

“Good?” Gonzalo asks, nosing at Paulo’s cheek. Paulo nods fervently, the ghost of his breath against Gonzalo’s temple ragged.

“Always,” Paulo says hoarsely, “Good, so good, _more_.”

Gonzalo crooks his finger and Paulo hisses, writhing against him until he pushes in a second. He scissors him open and Paulo’s mouth goes from a perfect O-shape into a broad grin, eyes tight shut, head thrown back as far as it can go. He arches his back and Gonzalo has to sit up to look at him, just _look_, sweating and beautiful and twisted in the sheets, the black and white of the jersey against Paulo’s golden skin.

“Get on with it,” Paulo breathes, opening his eyes to look at Gonzalo properly. “Do it now, I want to feel you, fuck the pain, come _on_.”

These are the things Gonzalo lives for, that Paulo would break himself for football and country but the only time he ever looks that way is at _him_, and it makes Gonzalo feel powerful in the most terrifying way. _It’s a heavy weight_, Paulo had said, when they discussed the possibility of his captaincy.

Gonzalo couldn’t do it, couldn’t hold Argentina together, couldn’t bear that burden, but Paulo can, and Gonzalo can hold Paulo.

“Give me a second,” he says, fumbling for the condom as Paulo bites his lip impatiently, gritting his teeth when Gonzalo pulls his fingers out.

“Now,” Paulo says, “Now, now,” and wraps both arms around Gonzalo’s shoulders. Gonzalo lines himself up, breath hitching as the tip of his cock hits Paulo’s entrance, and when he pushes in, Paulo cries out.

It’s always so much, every damn time, the feeling of Paulo hot and tight around him but God, there are a few heartstopping seconds where they just drink each other in, not moving, Paulo’s breath hot against his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, and Paulo presses a shaky kiss to the hinge of his jaw before whispering “Gonzalo,” and Gonzalo knows what he’s going to say before he says it, hopes fervently that he has enough strength in his arms to keep himself up. He slides out slickly, almost but not all the way, and then pushes in again, and Paulo’s arms tighten around him.

“So good, you’re always so good,” Paulo laughs breathlessly. Gonzalo builds up a jerky rhythm, overwhelming feeling of being held together leaving spots behind his eyelids. He knows there are things he wants to tell him but he can’t find words in any language, kisses Paulo desperately in the hope that he’ll pick up on the things he can’t say.

“I love you so fucking much,” Paulo says into his neck, and Gonzalo guesses he understands.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, not when Paulo keeps talking, filthy and beautiful, but he makes sure to angle himself so that Paulo cries out, grin broad upon his face, and comes into Gonzalo’s hand before letting himself follow. They lay there, panting, sticky-wet.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” Gonzalo admits when he finally lists to the side, giving Paulo room to breathe.

“Mmhm, better not,” Paulo says, blissed-out look lingering on his face. “I’d lose it.”

Gonzalo feels his smile break into a full-blown grin, hopes vainly that he doesn’t look as goofy as he knows he does. When was in London and Paulo was in Turin it was easy to forget how stupidly in love he is. When they’re together, it’s like he’s never known anything else.

“I like the jersey,” Paulo decides.

“No shit,” Gonzalo says, and when Paulo kicks him and presses a kiss to his shoulder, Gonzalo files _loves me entirely_ under the list of things he guesses he knew all along.


End file.
